Bishop: Season 1
by 66Dragon
Summary: Kate Bishop- Six months ago she was sexually assaulted in Central Park. After her recovery she vowed what happened to her would not happen to anyone else. To do this without endangering those around her, she had to become someone else. From X-Men: Standing Guard comes this new series of action, adventure, and romance. Rated M for dark themes including rape, violence, and sex.
1. Bishop (XMENSG Preview)

The four X-Men panted heavily. They had been chasing the shadowy figure across rooftops for almost fifteen minutes and it seemed she never tired. They had followed their mysterious figure into an abandoned apartment building in the Bronx. It was dark inside, messy; furniture was scattered, shredded, and toppled. Paper had blown in through the cracked windows and littered the floor. Old beer bottles and rocks rolled around in the gentle evening wind. The lights from the street shone in through the cracked windows and cast a soft light on the floor.

"Eyes open." Scott Summers warned. He adjusted his goggles to a stun setting. They weren't here to kill their target, they weren't even here to fight. If she insisted on a fight, though, she'd get it.

Next to Scott was his wife Jean Grey. The fiery mutant with brilliant red hair stood at the ready, attempting to sense any movement in the building.

Rogue and Kitty stood shoulder-to-shoulder. The brunette in shades of blue stood looking warily. She had a sneaking suspicion of who their mysterious shadow figure was, but she needed to get close to find out for sure.

The white-streaked belle stood in her green and yellow uniform, brown trench coat billowing in the wind, her right glove in her left hand, leaving the pale flesh exposed and ready for battle.

For a moment there was complete silence in the apartment building other than the sound of the X-Men breathing. Something dropped in the middle of them and spun, spitting out smoke. Rogue tackled Kitty to one side while Jean and Scott backed away to the other. An arrow flew out of the smoke and stabbed Jean in the shoulder, letting out an electrical current and dropping her to the floor. Scott shouted her name and went to check on her. Three more arrows shot out of the smoke. Scott fired his beam of pure energy in return, but forgot that stun didn't cut through objects. The purple-tipped arrows imbedded in his flesh and rendered him unconscious alongside his wife.

Kitty and Rogue stood up, facing the smoke. An arrow flew out at Rogue, but the belle caught it with one hand. Another arrow flew out and the belle caught it again, dropping the other arrow. Smoke hissed out of the purple canister attached to the second arrow and Rogue collapsed to the ground unconscious.

Kitty braced her fists and phased slightly so that any object hurled at her would pass through. Nothing happened for a moment. Then a figure dropped out of the rafters and landed in front of Kitty.

She was Kitty's height, maybe a little taller. She wore skin-tight dark purple pants and black combat boots. Lighter purple plates of armor covered her thighs and calves. A white scarf hung from her waist. Her torso and arms were covered with the same dark purple fabric, with lighter purple armor plates covering her stomach, chest, and arms. She wore a dark purple hood and a black domino mask. A quiver hung on her back, a purple bow in her hands. The vigilante notched an arrow and aimed it at Kitty.

"You have failed this city!" she shouted, something altering her voice, and let the arrow fly.


	2. Bishop Series Trailer

****Today is the Day! After you've checked out the trailer for _Bishop_, head over to my profile to check out the Season 2 trailer for ********_X-Men: Standing Guard_******** and the ********_Bishop_ pilot********! Don't forget to subscribe to _X-Men: Standing Guard Season 2_ and _Bishop Season 1!_****  
>-<p>

_-  
>"My name is Kate Bishop."<br>-_

I flip back my hood, shaking my black hair loose.

_-  
>"Nine months ago I was sexually assaulted in Central Park."<br>-_

They grab me with their cold, iron fists, clenching me hard until I know there are going to be bruises if I live, which I kind of hope I don't. They're laughing and touching me with those cold, iron hands. I can't move, only squirm and scream for help, but no one comes. Then I'm bent over again and they're still touching—feeling me. I scream and I struggle, but I can't get away.

_-  
>"After my recovery, I vowed that what happened to me would never happen to anyone else."<br>-_

I extend the white baton and swing, hitting the man so hard something goes 'crack' and it echoes around. The gangbanger collapses to the ground.

_-  
>"I swore to protect the innocent…"<br>-_

"Down!" I yell. The girl ducks and I fire an arrow straight where her head would have been. It pierces the mugger in the throat and he falls to the ground dead.

_-  
>"…and to bring down those who are <em>poisoning_ my city."  
>-<em>

Without stopping, I dart in the still open doors and slide to a stop. I notch one arrow, aiming at a man's chest, but instead take out his kneecap. He yells in pain and his buddy stops to look at him. I fire a second arrow and it impales itself in his shoulder. He drops too. I run past them and follow Monro, weaving in and out of the homeless shelters and into a side alley.  
>-<p>

"Hey, sis." She greets. She seems very depressed. Susan dyed her hair blonde, for why I don't know, and has it pulled back in a ponytail. She's wearing her tennis uniform still. She _smells_ like she's still wearing her tennis uniform.

"You expecting Jackson to come over and that's why you haven't showered?" I tease.

"I don't have time." Susan replies, not removing her attention from her paper. "I've got _actual work_ to do."

"Oh, and I don't." I reply, grabbing a box of shrimp salad.

_-  
>"But to do this without endangering those closest to me, I have to become someone else…<em>

"_I have to become something else."  
>-<em>

I notch two arrows from my location on the roof of the pizzeria and fire them, one into each bodyguard. They drop like flies. It doesn't take long for the gangbangers to see me and guns are out, bullets flying. I've learned my lesson though, and I'm already moving, jumping into the alleyway and firing a specially modified arrow into the center of the gangbangers. I attached a metallic tip right beneath the arrow head that explodes upon impact. There are maybe half a dozen gangbangers, half of which fly into the wall and don't move again.

I notch an arrow and turn to fire it at a gangbanger, but find him right in my face. I fire the arrow into the ground, fortunately hitting his foot, and he yells in pain. I use my bow as a melee weapon and swing it up into his chin, slapping him once on each side of his face with the bow, then planting a firm kick to his stomach and tossing him backwards. I notch another arrow and fire it into his chest and he's down for the count.

The two other gangbangers, having recovered from the explosion earlier, open fire on my position. I'm forced to take cover behind a dumpster. Bullets riddle the metal container, spraying pieces of trash into the air and sending sparks flying. I lean around the corner for a second and gauge my surroundings before ducking back where I was.

There's an electrical fuse-box next to one of the gangbangers. I need a distraction to get a clean shot though. I pull a disc out of my belt and slide it over to them. It lets out an ear-piercing shriek and the two clutch their ears with one hand, firing blindly with their weapons. It's risky, but I make the move, standing up and firing an arrow into the fuse box. It explodes and renders another gangbanger unconscious.

-  
><em>"I can't do this alone. I need help."<br>-_

"Where's my bike?" I ask.

"One block from your position, uploading position to your account now." Sure enough, I hear a ding from my phone and a small yellow dot appears on my Heads Up Display.

"Thanks, A." I whisper. "Stand by."

_-  
>"America is my best friend for life. She's also very good with computers. She's been with me since the beginning."<br>_-

"You could've just sniped their asses from the rooftop and avoided that whole mess." America says.

"I like to have fun." I reply.

"There are easier ways to kill yourself." America replied, shooting a glance over her shoulder. "You could jump off of a bridge or step into traffic…"

"Don't forget car crash. Those are always fun." I add, smirking.

"Screw you."

-  
><em>"The newest addition to this little team is Elijah Bradley, also known as Patriot. He's smart, strong, and kind of hot."<em>  
>-<p>

I hook my bow onto the line and slide across as well. We roll through the broken window into an upper-story floor. Eli's already got a gun to his face. The gangbanger doesn't see me at first, giving me time to pull one of the white batons out of the pouch on my legs. I extend it and swing.

-  
>"Vigilante Spares Drug Lord." America quotes, jabbing her thumb at the computer screen.<p>

"Congratulations, K, you successfully took down a criminal without murdering every soul in sight."

"I've heard how you operate." He says gravely. "I don't do that. _No killing_."

-  
>"So?" America asks. "Was he as hot as in his picture?"<p>

Eli glances at me and I roll my eyes.

-  
><em>"Together we form the Young Avengers; a group of young vigilantes dedicated to protecting New York City."<em>  
>-<p>

I rush at the single squad car. The two behind me open fire, unfortunately hitting the only officer without a gun in the shoulder. He yells out in pain and falls to the ground. I jump up on the hood, kick off of the wall and land on the first police officer. I wrap my legs around his neck and slam my fists into both sides of his head. He drops and I kick off of him.

-  
>I load all of my arrows with a default pointy tip and jump down, notching one and firing it at Monro straight away. The bastard's bodyguard jumps in the way and goes down. I would fire another at him, but the seven gangbangers in the complex pull out guns and I have to leap behind a wall to prevent myself from becoming Swiss cheese.<p>

"They're armed."

"Wow! Thanks!" I exclaim. "Would've never known!"

-  
>Monro runs to the end of the alley and stops, seeing no way out. He turns and raises his hands, as if I'm going to show him mercy.<p>

"Darren Monro!" I shout, notching an arrow and pointing it at his face. "You have failed this city!"

-  
><strong>Bishop<br>New Series Premieres September 14****th****  
><strong>-

America has her laptop in her hand. It's black and covered in little American flags, Captain America stickers and shields. She sets it on the desk and opens it up, typing in her password faster than my eyes can follow her fingers. She pulls up an app on the computer that turns the screen dark. Neon blue and white lines cross the screen, strange images popping up. Triangles inside triangles, squares crossing circles, they seem to make sense to her and she's typing in passwords before their requested.

"Welcome to Vigilance." She grinned. "Home to all of your vigilante needs."

It's good to see her happy, but I don't get a midnight call on my vigilante line stating we need to meet in person to finally see the switch behind the scenes.

"Whatcha got?"

"The gang that raped you? I've made some progress. Monro was only the first. There's a whole slew of men who are tied to them." America whispers.

"Who's my next target?" I ask.


	3. Bishop S1E01 Pilot-Welcome to My World

****Today is the Day! After you've checked out the pilot for _Bishop_, head over to my profile to check out the Season 2 trailer for ********_X-Men: Standing Guard_******** and the ********_Bishop_ trailer as well********! Don't forget to subscribe to _X-Men: Standing Guard Season 2_ and _Bishop Season 1!_****

**Also: Please leave reviews if you enjoyed this episode and want it to go to series. I'm not putting a basic amount, so just leave a review if you enjoy! Remember reviews are the only way to know my series are being enjoyed!**  
>-<p>

-  
>The alleyway is dark. It's located deep in the criminal area of New York City. The street smells like vomit and alcohol. Newspapers fly by, detailing headlines about international incidents and President Robert Kelly's latest moves in the political spectrum. No one in this area uses newspapers for reading material though, it's used as toilet paper, napkins, something to wipe the blood off of your hands in a rush.<p>

These streets are dimly lit and the sickly yellow light from the long-abandoned light posts do a good job of hiding criminal activity in the shadows. The cars illuminated by these lights are old and rusty, their faded colors barely showing beneath the wear and tear.

The particular alleyway that I'm focused on tonight is located between a pizzeria and a Chinese restaurant. It's the type of businesses that don't object to being the home of the occasional body disposal or money laundering operation. It was no surprise that I found these men here tonight, trying to sell a stash of this new drug to some rich CEO. God knows what he wants it for; he's probably some Wall Street broker looking for a new adventure, figures this stuff is a good place to start. After all, he has the money to throw away.

My first move is disable his bodyguards. Out of all of the men in the alleyway, they pose the most threat to my safety. I notch two arrows from my location on the roof of the pizzeria and fire them, one into each bodyguard. They drop like flies. It doesn't take long for the gangbangers to see me and guns are out, bullets flying. I've learned my lesson though, and I'm already moving, jumping into the alleyway and firing a specially modified arrow into the center of the gangbangers. I attached a metallic tip right beneath the arrow head that explodes upon impact. There are maybe half a dozen gangbangers, half of which fly into the wall and don't move again.

The dumbass from Wall Street pulls out his cellphone and dials the cops. I'd take him out myself, but a gangbanger beats me to the punch and fills the man's chest with lead. Unfortunately, emergency services had already answered and I can hear the operator on the other side of the line panicking. No time to worry about that though, concentrate on the mission at hand.

I notch an arrow and turn to fire it at a gangbanger, but find him right in my face. I fire the arrow into the ground, fortunately hitting his foot, and he yells in pain. I use my bow as a melee weapon and swing it up into his chin, slapping him once on each side of his face with the bow, then planting a firm kick to his stomach and tossing him backwards. I notch another arrow and fire it into his chest and he's down for the count.

The two other gangbangers, having recovered from the explosion earlier, open fire on my position. I'm forced to take cover behind a dumpster. Bullets riddle the metal container, spraying pieces of trash into the air and sending sparks flying. I lean around the corner for a second and gauge my surroundings before ducking back where I was.

There's an electrical fuse-box next to one of the gangbangers. I need a distraction to get a clean shot though. I pull a disc out of my belt and slide it over to them. It lets out an ear-piercing shriek and the two clutch their ears with one hand, firing blindly with their weapons. It's risky, but I make the move, standing up and firing an arrow into the fuse box. It explodes and renders another gangbanger unconscious.

"K!" the voice over my comm system rings. I recognize it, but I can't reply right now. I grit my teeth and run at the gangbanger, low to the floor. He's still recoiling from the sonic burst earlier. I slide and kick his feet out from under him, standing back up and notching an arrow in one fluid motion, leaving it embedded in his corpse.

"K!" the voice comes again.

"What?" I demand, retrieving my arrows from the corpses. An arrowhead breaks off inside a gangbanger and I curse myself. I should have screwed it on tighter. I could have reused that.

"Someone called 911 from your position. Quite a few people actually. A few cop cars are on their way. Get out of there!"

"I've got to retrieve my arrows!" I reply, pulling the one out of the fuse box. It fizzles a bit, but I don't pay much attention.

"K!" the voice comes again. "They're thirty seconds out! Get out of there now!"

"Just hack their systems and give them another address." I order, perhaps a little too harshly.

"I can't!" the voice replies. "The police have switched bands, it's going to take time!"

I dart over to one of the gangbangers, pulling out an arrow when I spot exactly what I've been scouring all night for.

"I've got a sample of the drug. I'm getting it now!"

"K! It's too risky! The cops are _right on top of you_!"

"I've been looking for this all night!" I reply. "Cops can wait!"

I hear a sigh on the other end of the line. She really hates that answer. She sounds like a worrisome mother though, to be honest, constantly worrying about my safety and my getting caught. Yeah, I should probably appreciate that, but right now it annoys the _hell_ out of me.

I pull out an arrow from the gauntlet on my wrist and slice open the white brick. It spills all over me and I curse. Damn it! I frantically scrape some into a plastic container when red and blue lights illuminate the alleyway. I look straight at them. _Shit_. This doesn't look good. Here I am, dressed in a purple body-suit and hood with a quiver on my back, nine bodies around me, and my gloves are covered in white powder.

"Freeze! NYPD!" one officer yells, stepping out of the car and pulling out his pistol. Another one pulls up on the other end of the alleyway and two more officers aim their guns at me.

"Hey!" one yells. "It's that damn vigilante! Call it in!"

"K! They're calling in backup!"

"I know!" I growl.

"Put your hands in the air or we will shoot you!" The same officer yells. I stand up slowly, easing the bow onto my back, the string on the front and the limbs on my back. I'll need that later. I raise my gloved hands into the air, hood low in the light. I can _not_ have them identifying me.

"Where's my bike?" I ask.

"Captain Stacy says to hold position. Wait for reinforcements before attempting to arrest her." One officer says, leaning out of the first squad car. "He also said," the officer adds much louder, "shoot her if she breathes funny."

"One block from your position, uploading position to your account now." Sure enough, I hear a ding from my phone and a small yellow dot appears on my Heads Up Display.

"Thanks, A." I whisper. "Stand by."

A had the fortunate idea to turn the sunglasses I wear under my hood into an HUD so that I'm not constantly glancing at my phone during crime-fighting. They're certainly helpful. My motorcycle is towards the first car where only one officer is armed, then to the left, away from where reinforcements will be coming from. _Unfortunately_, I have to head back _towards_ the reinforcements to get to my base, so that shits things up.

"How long until your reinforcements get here, Lieutenant?" I ask, the voice filter around my neck lowering and distorting my voice, making it sound almost male.

"None of your damn business, just stay there." The officer responds. He does, however, turn to his friend and repeat the question. I get my answer: two minutes. I grin. That's far more than enough time. I'm already forming a plan in my head: take out the officer with the gun, disable the other three with a smoke bomb, grab my bike and speed past the cops before they know I'm headed towards them and before they have a chance to turn around.

"I hope you understand I don't like hurting cops." I say, then I rush at the single squad car. The two behind me open fire, unfortunately hitting the only officer without a gun in the shoulder. He yells out in pain and falls to the ground. I jump up on the hood, kick off of the wall and land on the first police officer. I wrap my legs around his neck and slam my fists into both sides of his head. He drops and I kick off of him, tossing down a smoke bomb. The other two officers stop firing for fear of hitting civilians. I take off down the street, covering the single block gap in record time. There's my bike, sitting in the alleyway just as I left it. From the smoking body next to it, I gather that someone tried to steal it and met my taser function.

"K! Reinforcements closing in on your position!"

"Got it." I reply, cranking the motorcycle and screeching out of the alleyway, smoke pouring from my tires. Sure enough, here come the police in full force, one car in each lane. Their red-blue lights and bright headlights give them away instantly and I drive right at them. They realize who I am too late and I speed past them, heading back towards the familiar skyscrapers of home. They screech and wreck into each other in a desperate effort to turn around.

"Home free!" I exclaim. I keep one hand on the controls and use the other to put my bow on the side of the bike in its storage container.

"Not quite." A's voice comes over the comm system. "It seems you're getting "caught" attracted the attention of the entire department. There's more heading your way now."

"How many?"

"At least a dozen. They're coming up Broadway, 3rd, and 12th."

"They're trying to box me in. Hit the traffic light two intersections ahead of me on my mark."

"What for? You'll get caught in the accident!"

"Trust me!" I growl through gritted teeth. I glance into my side-mirrors and see the first few squad cars taking up positions on my tail. If I can leave these cops behind at this intersection, I can escape using the inner-city traffic to my advantage. In the three months I've been active as the vigilante, and even before that, I've learned to drive this motorcycle pretty well, fitting into spaces that seem impossible, going at speeds too fast for normal human reflexes.

Three cop cars drift behind me from third street.

"The ones on twelfth are two streets ahead." A warns.

"Now!" I yell.

The lights ahead of me turn green and all of the traffic goes at once, impatient New Yorkers slamming into each other's cars. I use my body-weight and strength to lift the motorcycle up and use a crashed car as a ramp, launching myself into the air. I fly over the wreck even as the squad cars crash.

"Good thinking." A compliments. "Nearest squad cars are two blocks away. Head into the B-Subway and make your way to 4th. You'll avoid any trains. You should be home free at that point."

"Thanks for the help."

The comm system cuts off, but I know she's happy, and annoyed, at my success. I may have caused some damage and a headache for a lot of people, including myself and A, but I've got what I needed and that's all I wanted.

This is my nightlife. By day I'm the daughter of multi-millionaire publishing mogul Derek Bishop, by night I'm the vigilante Knightress, bringing justice to the criminals of New York City.

Who am I? I'm Kate Bishop. Welcome to my world.

-  
><strong>Kate Bishop: Young Avenger<br>Season 1 Episode One  
>"PilotWelcome to My World"  
>-<strong>

"You could've just sniped their asses from the rooftop and avoided that whole mess."

I grin as I park my motorcycle and flip back my hood, shaking my black hair loose. This is America's greeting upon my return to the Factory. It's a small building on the surface, but this hidden basement is large and extensive, allowing me room to set up without feeling crowded.

"I like to have fun." I reply, pulling off the sunglasses and disabling the voice filter around my neck. It looks like a collar and it itches sometimes, but it does the job so I don't complain much.

"There are easier ways to kill yourself." America replied, shooting a glance over her shoulder. "You could jump off of a bridge or step into traffic…"

America is my best friend in life. She's been by my side since fourth grade and has followed me anywhere, even here. She was the only person I trusted with my secret. She was hesitant at first, like all people, then she tried to dissuade me from going on my quest, which she knew was fruitless because she knows how stubborn I can be…"American" as she calls it. Which is ironic since _her_ _name_ is America.

America is a first generation American. She was technically born in Mexico City, but her parents falsified her records when they came to the states and she moved up to New York City after a gang war killed her entire family. She doesn't like to talk about it, so we don't, but it was good motivation to get her on board. She has her own missions she has me do every once in a while, gang take-downs like tonight. As long as there's nothing else important going on, I'm fine with it.

She's pretty, with frizzy brown hair and chocolate eyes. She looks like she works out, but I can't be sure. She likes her privacy more than the normal person. She has this…thing she likes to do. She loves wearing patriotic clothes. There's always some mix of red, white, and blue in her clothes and she has some Captain America shirts and collectibles. I don't know to this day why she likes America and the Cap so much, but it seems to offer her comfort and make her happy so I don't bother her.

"Don't forget car crash. Those are always fun." I add, smirking.

"Screw you."

America has this tendency that no matter what she says, she can make me laugh. Although, if I laugh right now, I might regret it.

"Police still looking for me?"

"Naw, that spider-freak is out crawling subway walls again." America replies. "He's got the police on high-alert, although they have to know they're never going to catch him."

"It gives them comfort to try." I pull the container carrying the drug out of my belt and set it on the desk. "There. That's what the new dealer is distributing. It's something powerful."

"Looks like coke." America notes, pouring a small amount out and sifting through it with her finger.

"Yeah, just don't breathe too deeply. If we can figure out what the drug is made of, we can track the ingredients and figure out where this prick is. Then I go in, bust heads, and we put this win under your column."

America smiles sadly. I put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, they'd be proud of you."

"Yeah," she replies. "I gotta get to work. You need to go home and get some rest."

"Can't. I didn't finish my report that's due today. Gotta finish it up."

America stands up and moves to the area with all of the science equipment. "Well don't take this the wrong way, but you look like shit."

"It's not that bad, is it?"

"Girl, you haven't slept at all in three days! First it was that psycho Dillon in the electricity grid, then it was the X-Men, S.H.I.E.L.D., meeting the white-haired girl*, now you take down some drug-dealing thugs… you need some sleep. You're worn, I can see it."

"What about the report?" I ask, glancing in a mirror and tugging at the dark spots under my eyes. Probably just too much makeup.

"I'll write the damn thing for you if you'll just get some sleep!"

"It's English."

America hesitates and I smile, knowing this would get her.

"Alright fine, you write the damn report. I'll shove my eyes down this microscope and into the computer screen, try and see if we can't figure out what this shit is made of."

"Sure you don't want to just try some?" I ask with a smirk. America waves me off.

"Oh, by the way, happy birthday." America adds, reaching into a drawer and tossing me a white pouch.

"That was two weeks ago."

"Special order from Europe." America replies. "Slow asses in their fancy suits."

I smile and open the pouch. There are two canisters inside, both about six inches long and an inch in diameter.

"Uhm.."

"Press the bottom." America instructs, not moving her eyes from the microscope.

I reach down and press an end of the canister. It doesn't work. I flip it and press the other end. An extension pops out and slams me right between the nose. I drop it, cursing.

"Fuck!"

America turned, startled. I think she gathered what happened because she bursts out laughing. I glare at her for a moment, then realize how tired and stupid I am, and join her in laughing.  
>-<p>

-  
>It's always the same dream, just in variations. Sometimes I'm in the Park, sometimes in my apartment, other times I'm in the Factory when they come. I try and fight, I use all of the fighting skills I've learned, all of the weapons I have. I shoot them, I blow them up, I knock them out, but they still keep coming. Then they grab me. They grab me with their cold, iron fists, clenching me hard until I know there are going to be bruises if I live, which I kind of hope I don't. They're laughing and touching me with those cold, iron hands. I can't move, only squirm and scream for help, but no one comes. Then I'm bent over again and they're still touching—feeling me. I scream and I struggle, but I can't get away. I feel my pants slide down and I hear that hollow, cold, inhumane laugh again and again and they're gripping my hips and moving towards me—<p>

"Kate!"

I grab the man's throat! Only it isn't a man, it's America, and she looks rather startled. I let go of her and discover we're both breathing heavily.

"S-Sorry." I gasp.

America rubs her throat. "The same dream again?" she manages to croak out.

I nod. I'm sweaty, but it's a cold sweat, leaving me shivering in my clothes. I can't catch my breath and it's more like my mind won't make my body move than an asthma attack. My hands are shaking. To steady them I clench hard, hard enough to make my palm bleed. My teeth are chattering, I bite down hard, feeling them vibrating against one another.

"What—What did you find?" I ask, standing up, trying to shake off the nightmare.

America takes a deep breath and nods. "Okay," she says, turning around. "I found out that this drug is specific to one cartel and more importantly, one dealer."

"What's his name?" I ask, following America over to the computers.

"Darren Monro." She replies, pulling up his image on screen. He's got the face of a criminal: pointy chin, enlarged nose, steely eyes and slicked back brown hair. He's got a tattoo over his left eye of something I can't make out and has a dozen earrings all over his face. I shudder to think what the rest of his body looks like.

"He's thirty-five. He's been charged with multiple crimes before, but never convicted. He always finds some technicality to slip away on."

"How many times has he been arrested?"

"Twenty-eight." America replies. "Oh that's interesting."

"What?" I ask, leaning in close and peering at the file.

"You aren't the first mask to target him. Last year, Monro was taken down by another "young" vigilante. Unfortunately, the vigilante walked in before the crime could be committed and Monro slid away. He disappeared after that until now."

"Who was the other vigilante?" I ask, peering at the file over America's shoulder.

"The only public identity given is his codename: Patriot. Fortunately, S.H.I.E.L.D. keeps more…insightful files on vigilantes and heroes."

"You hacked S.H.I.E.L.D.?" I ask, astonished.

"Don't get angry—" America starts, but I cut her off.

"Angry? I'm proud! You go, girl!" I exclaim, punching America in the shoulder. "So who is he?"

America typed a few things quickly on the keyboard and the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo popped up, then a file named "Patriot". America opened it. The boy—no, man- inside was handsome. He was African-American, his face chiseled like that of an Ancient Roman statue. He also had a softness and smoothness to his skin that let you know he wasn't all muscle and brawn. He had charming blue eyes, something that took me slightly off-guard due to his race, but I waved past it. Blue eyes? I could be fine with that. He's bald, the top of his head smooth and shining in the light of the afternoon sun (at least I assume it's the sun, because of the way the picture was taken). He's got a uniform made of blue, but that's all I can make out from his picture.

"Eighteen, African-American, lives in Pennsylvania with his grandparents, operates under codename Patriot…" America continued to browse the file. "Name's Elijah Bradley."

"Nice…"

America stares at me and I realize what I said. "Uhm, his name. It's a nice name."

"Uh-huh." America responds, turning back to the computer with a smug smile.

I straighten up. So she thinks she knows me, huh?

"He's obviously sloppy. Anyone with brains knows to wait until the crime is committed before stepping in. He lives with his grandparents, lame. What's his costume look like? Please tell me he wears his underwear on the outside of his pants."

America rolled her eyes, that smug smirk still on her face. _God, _that smug little smirk irritates the hell out of me. She pulled up an image of the suit. It was a blue shirt, clinging to his _very_ fit and masculine body. He wore red pants, those too, very tight and I couldn't help the fact my eyes drifted there for _several_ seconds too long. He wore black boots, red gloves, and had a blue mask that covered his entire head. He had what looked like a red domino mask over that.

"Two masks?" I ask, after spending a few moments looking for something wrong with that beautiful figure.

"Oh, just stop." America exclaims. "Your attraction to him is written in neon ink on your forehead!"

"It is not!"

"Yeah, it is."

I scowl. "Well it doesn't matter, because we're not going to meet."

"What?" America asks, clearly taken aback by my comment. I grin inwardly, knowing I have the upper hand now.

"Well yeah, there's no reason to go consult another vigilante about a drug dealer. I've taken down drug dealers before—"

"Actually, you haven't."

I scowl. "Point is, I don't need to consult him to take down a drug dealer."

"But why wouldn't you?" America asks. "Look at him!" she gestures at the picture and I do my best _not_ to look at him.

"Do you have a location on Monro?" I ask.

"Yeah, he's hanging in a ratty apartment in the Bronx."

"Good," I flip my hood up. "Send me coordinates."

"Umm…where are you going?" America asks.

"To take down a drug dealer." I smile.

"In the middle of the day?"

I glance at my watch. It's almost eleven o'clock.

"Shit."  
>-<p>

The Factory is located in Brooklyn, underneath a small warehouse that used to belong to my father. It still belongs to him on paper, but it's only used for storing old editions now. There are crates and crates of magazines and catalogs just sitting in the warehouse. My father received the warehouse after buying up another company. Before he owned it, the warehouse was a steel factory. There was a sub-level on some _very_ old blueprints, but my father had the level erased to reduce taxes.

The sub-level of the warehouse had an area for loading and unloading cargo. The door was rusty and had been locked for so long that the rust had welded the lock to the door. I had been forced to enter the sublevel by busting through the ceiling and dropping in.** I had since covered up the hole in the ceiling with some carefully placed boxes of magazines. The door was now the only way in and out of the Factory. On one hand it was good because there was only one place for your enemies to come from; on the other hand, it was bad because that was the only way out.

The Factory had originally only been a computer system, an archery range, and a crate containing my costume. Over the past three months, I had used my money (well, my father's money) and filled up the Factory with as much technology and equipment that I could. America used the best Stark Industries computer systems coupled with high-end scientific equipment that made tracking down people so much easier. I had enhanced the archery range to make it fully automated and include a holo-training simulator (Kitty had shown me the one in the Xavier Institute and I just had to have one), a full exercise gymnasium, and a workspace where I could create more arrows or design trick arrows. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who had rescued me in Africa*** had used several trick arrows. I had to admit that I got my purple theme partly from him and partly from my own liking of the color.

I had installed two glass display cases: one for my costume, and one for my bow. These two cases sat outside the archery range. My purple motorcycle was parked silently next to the door. It was always fueled and ready to go. It was the latest in A.I.M.'s techno-vehicles. It was covered in (purple, duh) body armor, had a computer that synced up with the one here at the Factory, and could travel throughout New York City all night without stopping or running out of gas. I had added a clip on the side to hold my bow. I was tempted to add in a mini-gun or rocket launcher, but figured it would be too cluttersome.

When I arrive at the Warehouse, I'm very upset. Not only did I get reamed by Kat for missing our science exhibit because I slept in after a tiresome night of saving the city, but I had forgotten to write my English report, and got a thirty minute lecture in front of the entire class for it by the professor _while standing up_! I was exhausted. I didn't want, nor was able, to sleep tonight though. I popped a few Tylenol for my headache and downed a soda while musing around the Factory. I had to finish my English report over the weekend and be ready to hand it in on Monday. Tomorrow I had to re-do my science exhibit with Kat. We had better get an A+ too, Kat had warned, or I'd be a dead man. We were already down a whole letter grade for my not being there. I feel kind of bad for Kat. She's obviously not into anything except her online blog for the Daily Bugle, and all she's in college for is that stupid piece of paper. She is counting on me to get her by in the one subject she doesn't have time for and I screw that up.

I'm skipping dinner with my dad and sis tonight, which normally isn't a big deal, but I miss them and want to spend at least one dinner with them, even if I know all it's going to do is piss me off. I give the usual excuses: school. I feel less disgusting for shoving them off, yet at the same time, I feel completely horrible.

America left her stash of candy bars out and I grab one. If she's got a bone to pick with me when I get back, big deal. She's not here, though, which is surprising. Normally America is the first one here and always doing something on the computer. Instead, her presence is replaced by a sticky note on the computer.

_'Out running errands, bbl, coords on computer.'_

It's her messy handwriting. I wonder for a brief moment what "errands" she's talking about, then I remember in the back of my mind that she's mentioned this guy she's been wanting to see for some time…Norman I think. Not Norman Osborne. Dude's got to be eighty. Norman…Varr or something? I don't know and I shove it out of my mind.

I pull up the coordinates on the computer and glance them over. The crack factory Monro runs is actually nearby, only a few blocks away. I decide to take it on later, when it's dark. Right now I've got an English report and a science demonstration to prepare for.

I pull _The Scarlet Letter_ out of my backpack and sigh. Who the hell picks these books?  
>-<p>

I've been sitting outside the apartment complex where Monro's running his drug ring for about two hours now. I'm still typing my English report on one screen and scanning the science report on the other. I yawn and pop another one of America's candy bars open, taking a bite out of it. God, I'm tired. I can't do much about it now, though. I've got scouting of crack houses and schoolwork to do.

My phone buzzes. It's Susan, my sister.

"Yo, girly."

"Hey, missed you at dinner." She replies.

"Yeah, sorry. Damn English report." I squint my eyes as a black SUV drives up in front of the building, moving from my relaxed position and letting my legs hang off the edge of the building.

"Well we had chicken-cheese-brocolli casserole." Susan replies. "I know you love it."

"Did dad serve English peas?" I ask.

"Of course he did." Susan replies. I can practically see her rolling her eyebrows on the other end of the line. My attention is focused down on the man in the suit exiting the car. I hold up a picture and put a face to the name.

"Hello, Darren." I whisper.

"Darren?" Susan asks.

"Nothing!" I practically yelp.

"Who's Darren?" Susan asks. Her voice turns sly. "Does Katie have someone special I don't know about?"

"No!" I snort. "I was having trouble finding a character from the book named Darren."

"There's no one in the Scarlet Letter named Darren."

Monro is wearing a brown sports coat, black pants, and a black shirt. I smirk.

"Yeah, what would you know?" I ask, redirecting the call to my earpiece and sliding the phone into the pocket on my belt. I pick up my quiver, strapping it back on.

"I read the book three times. It's a good read."

"Okay, now I know your lying." I reply. "Damn clip!"

"Not a bra clip?"

"Will you stop being disgusting!" I demand.

"Will you tell me what you're talking about?"

"America's got a box of different accessories. This stupid hair clip—"

"Okay, okay, whatever." Susan interrupts. "I was only joking, you know."

"Yeah," I reply, grabbing my bow. Monro's car is still sitting in front of the building. My instinct says to take out the tires and driver, but that would only alert Monro to my presence so I elect to come in hard and fast and take him down. Spilling a few packs of his own drug on him should ensure he spends the majority of the rest of his life in prison.

"Look, I've got to finish this over the weekend and I've got a science report to do. Besides, America is—"

"Yeah, yeah." Susan replies. "Drop by this weekend if you can."

I pull a small metal canister off the back of my utility belt and press it onto the roof of this building. I pull the string out of the canister and attach it to the special arrowhead outfitted on this arrow. I draw it back, aiming carefully.

"Yeah," I agree, my mind mostly on the aiming of the bow. "I'll try."

Susan hangs up the phone and I dial America through a series of blinks on my glasses. The phone rings and she picks up.

"Hey, hey!"

I fire the arrow and it imbeds itself in the wall. I tug on the line, making sure its taught.

"Hey, is this line secure?"

"Of course." America replies.

"I need you to get on the network. I'm going in."

"What? Tonight?"

"I wasn't planning on it, but Monro showed up out of the blue. I can't wait. God knows when he'll show back up."

"I'm logging in now."

"How long will it take?"

"Minute and a half?" America asks.

"Alright, I'm going to try and scout out how many guards he's got." I sling my bow over the line and zipline down to the apartment complex. I grab my arrow and reel the line in, replacing the canister on the back of my belt and the arrow in my quiver.

"So how'd your date go?" I ask quietly, creeping along the outside of the building, nearly losing my balance several times, before slipping through a broken window.

"Who said anything about a date?"

"Norman was his name?" I smirk.

"I never thought you were paying attention." America admitted.

"What else have you said that you didn't think I was listening to?"

I can tell this makes America slightly uncomfortable and it gives me a thrill.

"His name is Norman, Norman Marvel." America admits. "He's got blonde hair, is _extremely_ hot, really nice and sweet. He's got a thing for seventies music which is kind of weird, but I'll roll with it."

"Sounds nice." I note, sliding along a wall. "I spot seven and twelve workers. What about you?"

"I'm logging in now." America replied. "Hacking cameras…" I wait patiently for her judgment. "Yeah, you're go."

I grin. It's about damn time I got to kick some ass. I load all of my arrows with a default pointy tip and jump down, notching one and firing it at Monro straight away. The bastard's bodyguard jumps in the way and goes down. I would fire another at him, but the seven gangbangers in the complex pull out guns and I have to leap behind a wall to prevent myself from becoming Swiss cheese.

"They're armed."

"Wow! Thanks!" I exclaim. "Would've never known!"

"Sorry," America replies.

"Locations?" I ask.

"Group of three to your right. Close enough to warrant an explosive."

I grin. I've been wanting to use more of these. I grab one, notch it, lean around the corner, and fire. I hear the satisfactory boom as it explodes and the men go flying.

"Three down, three to go. Monro's running though." America warns.

"Tag his car! I'll follow on bike!"

I notch an arrow and am about to fire at the three remaining gangbangers when America yells: "Four on your six!"

I grab an explosive arrow without thinking and fire. The blast takes down the men, but I'm at such a close radius I can feel the heat and several pieces of shrapnel on my skin. I'm not bleeding, which is good.

"Monro's in his car, he's leaving."

"Tag the damn vehicle and keep your eyes in here!"

"Done!"

"Where are these bastards?"

"One's on the second story directly above you. He's preparing to ambush you."

"The other two?"

"I-I-I don't know!" America exclaims.

"What do you mean "you don't know"?" I demand. "Where are they?"

"They're not on any cameras!" she exclaims. "They didn't leave with Monro…"

"I'll find 'em." I stick my head out and jerk it back. A few shots are fired at my location, small clouds of plaster forming every time a bullet hits.

"Locations?" I ask.

"Eleven o'clock, Nine o'clock. They're behind the workstations."

By this time the workers have run, cowering in the corner. I would have loved to evacuate them, but it wasn't possible, not without losing the element of surprise.

"Wow." A's voice comes over the phone.

"Am I that impressive?" I grin, firing an arrow at the first gangbanger.

"K, you're not going to believe this."

"Believe what?" I ask. I duck back behind my pillar as bullets fly past. I notch another arrow.

"Monro just called the cops on you."

I pause for a moment, then fire another arrow at the second gangbanger.

"What the hell sort of drug dealer calls the cops?" I demand.

"Dunno, but you better get out of there!"

"Still got this asshole above me."

"Make him a deal." America offered.

"Are you insane?"

"It couldn't hurt to try!"

I sigh and activate my voice filter. "The rest of your friends are dead! Throw down your gun now and I'll let you go!"

No gun.

"See?" I ask. I pull a flashbang from my belt and pull the pin, holding it two seconds before tossing it up in the air. It explodes on his level and I dart out, firing an arrow into his chest. He falls over the railing with a reassuring thump and snaps my arrow shaft.

"What an asshole." I mutter. I grab the rest of my arrows and slide them into my quiver, darting out of the side door as blue and red lights flood the windows of the warehouse. I make it to my bike and bypass the squad cars before they even knew I was there. I'm home free.  
>-<p>

I walk into the Factory and toss my bow down. "What the hell sort of drug dealer calls the cops and oh my God you're dressed up." I stare. "Is that makeup?"

America blushes. She's wearing a dark blue cocktail dress with those sapphire earrings I gave her for her birthday two years ago. She's got makeup and some lipstick that has hints of purple in it, just like her eyeshadow. She's wearing golden heels and a golden bracelet. She looks gorgeous. I've never seen her before.

"Yeah," she replies softly.

"Damn, girl."

America blushes again. "As to answer your question," she turns back around to the computer screen, obviously not wanting to talk about it. Too bad for her. "Darren Monro is a gentlemen. Every time he's been arrested, he's done absolutely nothing to create an incriminating attitude about himself. He's courteous, kind, never criticizes the police who arrest him, he reports petty crimes to the police and is all around a good soul."

"Except for the part where he runs a crack house and deals to kids." I point out. "That's not what I'm getting at. Who's this Norman?" I'm leaning on the desk to get a good look at America. She blushes again and turns around to a second monitor.

"I told you. We went dancing tonight."

"Please tell me you didn't do it at Gremlin."

America just stares at me.

"Oh _come on_!" I exclaim, standing up and walking away.

"What?"

"You don't take a guy to Gremlin unless you're serious and ready to go public which oh my God you are." I stare at her and she doesn't argue back. "Now I'm insulted you didn't invite me."

"Would you have come?"

"If you had said something!"

"Well, you had Monro to take care of. Speaking of which, where is he?"

"I don't know. I lost him, I assumed you had him on the computer."

"He evaded the fucking tag I put on him. He's good."

"Too good."

"Now he knows you're on to him, so he's going to be extra careful."

"If only we knew more about him." I mused.

America stares at me and it takes me a solid thirty seconds to realize what I said.

"Oh no," I start, standing up.

"Why not?"

"I don't need help!"

"Maybe, this time, you do!" America exclaims. "Besides, it's not like it'd _hurt_. Hell it might even be an opportunity to expand this little team of ours."

"It's a solo act." I correct.

"_Moi?_" America exclaims.

"I meant as far as vigilante-ing goes."

America puts that sly grin on her face. "Just give him a visit. If he is helpful, maybe…"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." I interrupt. I realize I just let America win but for some reason, it isn't as big a deal to me. "Where does he go to school?"

America grinned. "Walker Price College."

"What?" It's a school I've never heard of.

"It's a small school in upper Pennsylvania." America replies. "Small campus, so it should be very easy to find him. Just ask around."

"I can't risk attracting attention like that. I'll find him and confront him my own way."

"Confront is not a good word to use."

I roll my eyes. "Just—tell me about your date."  
>-<p>

Pennsylvania was a bit of a ride from New York, so I pulled up Patriot's file and read it on the long, empty road. Sure, I could have flown, but that might raise some eyebrows if I borrowed one of our private jets and just flew to Pennsylvania for no apparent reason over the weekend. So I took my motorcycle, said I had some things to do, and rode off.

Bradley's alter-ego "Patriot" had appeared about a year and a half ago, stopping random muggings around town. He was sloppy, his identity quickly figured out, and constantly came home wounded (this fact I gathered from the family's frequent purchases of medical equipment and doctor's visits). He had super-powers, very similar to Captain America's; super-strength, near invulnerability, extreme reflexes, stamina, and speed. His original costume had looked similar to Bucky Barnes, Cap's "sidekick" during the War, so he had changed it.

Patriot sightings had disappeared about the same time as college started. Obviously, his arrival to classes covered in battlescars would cause some eyebrows to be raised and it wouldn't be long before his identity was public knowledge. This showed that he didn't want everyone to know who he was. I liked this.

I wasn't planning on barging in in my vigilante costume and demanding answers. I needed to see what he was like first. I searched around his campus wearing a purple hoodie and jeans. I kept the hood up and wore my vigilante sunglasses so I was in constant contact with America. I finally find him after fifteen minutes of searching. He's hanging out with some friends and is in a friendly argument from what I can see. He glances at me for a moment as I pass by, my heart skips a beat, then he looks back at his friends and I exhale.

I pull my phone out and sit down on a bench, pretending to look at it while I listen in on his conversation. The subject of debate is something political. Eli's friend is encouraging others to take a stance against the current America, bring more control into it. His friend states that America is the odd man out and that they needed to conform to the rest of the world, be tolerant to other nations.

Eli intrudes. He points out that when America was formed, we _were_ the odd man out and had been for the entirety of our history. He states that the current America gives its citizens the most freedom, and points out several examples of European nations, like England, that don't have as much freedom as America. He cites several laws and instances in England that the others didn't seem to appreciate. He states that the rest of the world should conform to _our_ beliefs.

Good looking _and_ smart. I smiled and lock my phone. I need to change clothes before talking to Eli. I am now confident he will help in any way he could. I head back to my motorcycle and speed off. I park near the football stadium and use the bathrooms to change, putting on my purple vigilante outfit. I know Eli still lives at home, and the fastest route to his house was between two abandoned factories. I'll hide out here and wait a few minutes until he comes home.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, Eli comes walking down the right side of the path. There are only ten yards between the buildings, so there isn't much space to walk, making it easier for me to sneak up on him. I drop down, silently, but he hears me and spins.

"What the hell?" he demands, raising his fists. "Who are you?"

I activate the collar around my neck and it lowers my voice several decibels. "Elijah Bradley. I need your help."

"With what?" Eli demands.

"A man you took down when you were acting as Patriot," this takes him by surprise. "A drug dealer named Darren Monro. He got off on a technical."

"How the hell do you know who I am?" he demands. "How do you know I'll even help you?"

"I've been watching you, Mr. Bradley. I know many things about you." I'm not sure if it's just me, but this sounds sexual. I tilt my head a little lower while he tries to look under the hood.

"The girl on the park bench." He whispers. "That was you?"

I nod once.

"Alright, what do you seem to be having trouble with?" he asks, folding his arms over his _very_ masculine chest.

"I—" I can feel someone behind me and I whirl, whipping my bow up and hitting them in the stomach. There's three of them, simple gangbangers, probably looking for some money…or something else. I'm not going through that again. I notch an arrow and am about to fire it into the first gangbanger's heart when I realize Eli is standing there, and it will make me look bad. I adjust my aim, instead, and fire it through his kneecap. I launch myself at the second gangbanger and place the handle of my bow under his chin. I flatten my hand to form a blade with it and stab into his throat. He stumbles back, clutching his throat.

"Look out!" Eli warns. I feel a hand on my hood and spin, panicking. I feel the hood leave my head and my black hair twirl behind me. Eli, to his credit only trying to help, grabs the man by his shoulder and throws him across the ten yard gap and into the wall of the other factory. He turns and stares at me, recognition flickering on his face. My identity is screwed.

I don't have time to ponder that anymore, because the gangbanger he threw is getting up and running away, inside the other factory. The two gangbangers I already took down are still groaning and moaning on the ground, completely unaware anything has happened. I dart after the third gangbanger, Eli calling after me to wait. I run inside the factory, and for my stupidity, almost get a bullet to the face. This guy is armed and firing. I jump up a few stacks of crates to the second level and he fires again and again until he's out of bullets. I grab a nearby chain, leaping into the void, and swing at him, knocking him down. He tries once again to stand up and I grab him, putting him into a headlock. I place one hand on the side of his head and he realizes what's coming.

"Please!" he yells. "You don't have to do this!"

Eli runs up in the factory behind me and comes to a stop, I can hear his footsteps. I bite my lip. This _isn't_ how I wanted to introduce myself.

"Yes I do," I reply. "No one can know my secret."

I snap his neck, the sound echoing in the empty factory. I drop his body and turn to Eli. Both of us are breathing deeply, but for different reasons. He looks at the body, then at me, and I wonder if I'm going to have to kill him too.  
>-<p>

-  
><strong>An exclusive look at the next episode of <em>X-Men: Standing Guard<em>  
><strong>-

Sneak Peek  
>-<p>

"So?" America asks. "Was he as hot as in his picture?"

Eli glances at me and I roll my eyes. I'm not sure if he buys it or not, but it doesn't seem to faze him because he coughs loudly and we both see America's muscles tense up. She slowly turns around and looks at the two of us.

"And he's here." She says slowly. She swivels to me. "And you aren't wearing your hood." She shoots me this glance that only the two of us understand: it means "What the hell?", but in a good way.

"Long story." I reply.

"When I sent you to talk, I didn't mean—"

"America!"

"Wha-at?" she asks, dragging out the word.

I roll my eyes again. "Just ignore her. She's a lovesick puppy."

"I ain't the one lovesick." America just in. I ignore her.

"So this is the Factory. Archery range over there, gym over there, computers there, workspace there." I turn and look at him. "That's pretty much all you need to know for the short time you'll be here."

America glances at me questioningly. Eli spots the glance.

"Yeah, I'm only staying to help catch Monro, then it's back to Pennsylvania for me." He says. His voice is deep and rich, like melted dark chocolate. I know it's a strange comparison, but it makes the most sense for me.

"Oh." America sighs, turning back to her computer.

"So what do you know about Monro?" I ask, glancing at the gym sets and wondering exactly how much he can benchpress, and more importantly, what he would _look like_ while doing it.

"He's one of those top-hat, white gloved criminals." He replies.

I turn and look at him. "What?"

"He pretends to be this high member of society. He's got an ego because the police have never been able to convict him. He's got this high-and-mighty rich person attitude about him. Feels like he's above everyone else."

"Well excuse the one percenters in the room."

He glances at me. "Sorry," He half-smiles and I can't help but mutter a "it's fine."

"If what you say about him is true, I'm surprised no one on the street has tried to take him out yet."

"Oh, they've tried." Eli assures me. "He's got security as tight as the President though."

"So I discovered."

"You went at him head on?" Eli asks, a little taken back.

"Yeah…"

"You're brave." He notes. He reaches over and picks up a 70-pound weight, lifting it up likes it nothing. I glance at America and her at me. She makes a fanning motion and I gesture for her to stop.

"Apparently pretty stupid as well." I note, trying to sound humble, but coming across as something shallow.

"I think that's the last thing you are." Eli replies, bending down and looking at the weights stacked on a low shelf. America flutters her eyebrows and mouths "he likes you!" to me. I wave her off, but it does get me thinking…

"Thanks," I smile as he stands back up. "So now the question becomes how to lure him out."

"Oh that's easy." Eli replies. "He likes rich kids. That's probably why he came to New York."

"Good," I smirk. "'Cause I'm a rich bitch." I turn to America. "Spread the word on social media. Kate Bishop is having a party tomorrow night. Make sure _everyone_ hears it."

America nods. Eli glances at me. "Um, not sure how things are here, but where I come from, it takes longer than a day and a half to get people to come to a party."

"Where there is money, there will be people." I remark. "See you tomorrow night!"  
>-<p>

I walk in the front door of my house and the first thing I hear is:

"Well, we need that for _this_ issue, not next one."

I sigh, because this means my dad is going to be completely oblivious to anything I have to say. Instead, I walk into the kitchen to grab something from the refrigerator. Susan's in there, working on her thesis.

"Hey, sis." She greets. She seems very depressed. Susan dyed her hair blonde, for why I don't know, and has it pulled back in a ponytail. She's wearing her tennis uniform still. She _smells_ like she's still wearing her tennis uniform.

"You expecting Jackson to come over and that's why you haven't showered?" I tease.

"I don't have time." Susan replies, not removing her attention from her paper. "I've got _actual work_ to do."

"Oh, and I don't." I reply, grabbing a box of shrimp salad that my dad must have had delivered and never eaten.

"That's not what I meant, Kate." Susan sighs, _finally_ looking up from her paper.

"Well it's just the way you said it and—"

"Well it's just that I'm really stressed and busy right now—" she mimics me, terribly, I might add.

"So-rry!"

"Don't act like a bitch." She replies, returning to her paper.

I sigh and grab a soda from the 'fridge. "What's dad on the phone about? I've got something to ask him."

"Well," Susan sighs. "I'm not wearing sound-cancelling headphones, so it's not too terribly important."

I smile and flick a grape from the fruit cup at her forehead, hitting her with excellent precision. "Good luck on that paper!"

She growls and grabs it to throw it back, but squashes it in her fist. I laugh and pop one into my mouth. I grab a sticky note on my way across the living room and jot down a note:

_Dad,_

_Party 2mrrw night. Pls do NOT attend._

_Kate_

I fold it into a paper airplane and toss it in his open door. He'll see it.

I climb the slick metal stairs to the second story, cross the overhang looking down on the curved TV in the living room, and kick open the door at the end of the hall with my foot.

This is my room, my sanctuary. Its walls haven't changed their color since I was six. It's still got the pink and purple striped wallpaper. Of course, the wallpaper is covered in medals and picture frames now. There's a pile of stuffed animals and old "childish" things long since abandoned in the corner. Somewhere beneath the animals is a toy chest containing LEGOs, Barbie Dolls, and other various children's toys.

My bed is a deluxe queen size with a purple comforter and navy blue sheets. I've got God knows how many pillows on the bed, most of which I throw onto the floor. The bed sits in the corner directly in front of the door. I wanted to move it after…the accident, but the room was too messy, so I kept it and made up the excuse that I was "facing my fears". The maid never comes in here anymore, per my instructions, so my room is very messy. My desk in the corner near the door hasn't been used in so long, even the junk on top is covered in dust. There's a bookshelf next to the desk containing all of the trophies I'm actually proud of, like my kickboxing, jujitsu, karate, and archery trophy. I took lots of self-defense classes after my attack and even more when I realized what I wanted to do: save people's lives.

I jump on my bed and flick on the television. I'm in the mood for something romantic, so I turn on a few chick-flicks I have on-demand. I pop open the soda and glance at Kate Bishop's cellphone (I have two phones, one for my vigilante ego, one for my Bishop ego). Rachel Osborne left a text, turns out she can't make it to the party tomorrow, she's visiting her brother in Australia. That's actually good. I don't like Rachel (or anyone close to me for that matter) getting involved in my vigilante affairs. I hate putting them in danger.

My life as Kate Bishop is perfect, but something tells me that in the next few months, it's going to get _very_ complicated.  
>-<p>

"What on God's green earth is taking so long?" America demands through the door.

"Oh, re-lax!" I exclaim. "I'm almost done!"

I struggle to reach around my back and zip up my cocktail dress. Yes, it would be much easier just to let someone do it, but I don't trust anyone to be touching my bare skin, not even America, although I doubt she'd do anything.

"Are you struggling with the zipper again?" America asks through the doorway.

"Oh, shut up!" I spit and gasp as the zipper bites into my skin, making me bleed, but I pull it up and smooth the dress out. It's strapless and dark blue with small white stars on it. I pull my hair back into a ponytail and throw a golden bracelet around it, knotting the hair up so the bracelet actually holds it in place. I'm not big on messing with my hair, and this is about as far as I'm willing to mess with it.

I open the door and pose letting America glance me over.

"How do I look?" I ask, smiling to mask the pain.

"Twirl," America smiles in return.

I don't and she knows.

"God, Kate, you cut yourself again!"

"It's a small cut! No one is going to notice!"

"Then twirl!"

I sigh and twirl, a little slowly because the cut _does_ hurt, but I'm not going to say anything.

"You look beautiful, _princess_."

I smirk. "Been a while since you called me that, _Miss America_."

"Oh God," America groans. "I can not believe you just called me that."

I laugh. We've been calling each other those nicknames since we met. We both act like we hate them, but we love the names.

"You do look like you could win the award." I compliment, glancing at her dress. It's longer than mine, reaching her knees, and much looser, twirling when she moves. The dress is a patriotic blue. There's one long, white sleeve, with a star sewn into the fabric over her right shoulder. The other shoulder is bare, as is her arm. She's done her hair in curls. I hate curls, but she makes them look _good_.

"You ready to go?" I ask, extending my arm. America accepts it.

"To be honest," she whispers into my ear. "I think you'd rather have a tux on your arm than me."

I scowl and she giggles. "Oh, don't be so serious! It is so obvious you two like each other! I don't know why you don't ask him out!"

"Because he's not staying!" I exclaim.

"He might if you ask." America teases.

I roll my eyes.

"What is your objection to having a boyfriend?" she demands as we turn the stairs. "He's perfect! He's good looking, charming, knows _both_ your lives—"

"I'm not ready!" I whisper, loud enough she can hear me, but low enough no one else can.

"Kate, it's been a year!" she exclaims. "You need to do what Ms. Jones suggested and face your fears!"

"No." I reply solidly. "Need I remind you what she said about my nightly activities?"

America rolled her eyes. "I still agree with her on that, you know."

"Too well." I reply. "I'm going to get something to drink, pull up Eli on my ear comm, see if he can spot Monro anywhere."

America rolls her eyes. I wonder why she argues with me, she knows she's going to lose.

I walk over to the bar and grab a glass of something. I'm not sure what it is and I don't really care. I gulp it down and order another, gulping that down. Somewhere in the back of my mind I hear "Be careful, Kate, wouldn't want to get drunk." But that remark sounds distant, smart-ass, and encouraging, so I ignore it and order a third.

"You trying to get drunk before taking down a drug dealer?" Eli asks over my comm.

"Screw you." I only down half of this one. My vision's a little blurry and common sense (unfortunately) kicks in and I set down the drink. Just one night I want to drink so much I puke my heart out the next morning.

"I don't know much about archery, but something tells me you can't aim when drunk."

"Screw you." I repeat, deciding against common sense and downing the rest of the third drink. I move away from the bar before I start something stupid. I stumble a little in my heels, but walk around and act nice to everyone.

"Y'know it'd be much easier to spot Monro if I was _at_ the party."

I sigh. "Are you just _that _stupid?"

"Stupid?"

"You can't be seen at my party! Much less with me!"

"Why?" Eli demands. "Is it because I'm black?"

"Oh my God!" I whisper-exclaim. "Everything with you people is race!"

"It is not!" he exclaims. "And "you people"? How the hell is that _not_ supposed to be received as racist?"

I growl. "Screw you." I say for the third time tonight.

"Why don't you want me at your party, then? If it's not because I'm black—"

"Because no one knows you, you're so not rich that it's ridiculous, and you're not staying!" I whisper. Someone glances at me and I sigh, closing my eyes. "There's nothing wrong with you, Eli, or being black, it's the social problems." I pause. "Does that make sense?"

"I think you need to stop drinking." He replies.

"Let me know when you have Monro."

"Uh-huh." He replies, distracted. I glance out the window and he straightens up.

"Oh my God!" I whisper again. "You're staring at me!"

"Am not!"

"Oh my God! You totally are!"

"Screw you."

"Oh, _that_'s funny."

"Six o'clock, someone's making a sale." Eli says after another two or three minutes of partying.

I turn and walk back. "Which one?" I stumble again and am now seriously regretting those drinks.

"Black coat, shirt, red tie, I believe you know his physical features?"

"Who's he by?"

"Dunno, "social problems"."

"Hilarious."

"Some blonde in a green, _very revealing_, dress."

"That slut Hannah."

"Language, my Hawk."

"My Hawk?"

"Well, purple arrows, I figure you took after Hawkeye…the Avenger? You do know who the Avengers are?"

"Screw you." I curse. "And it's Knightress."

Monro turns and hands something to Hannah who puts it in her purse. He starts toward me and I stumble again, this time on purpose, and slip a bug into his jacket. I apologize and act a little drunk, and he waves it off. I snap a photo of Hannah and her cronies with the drugs in their hand on my (vigilante) phone, sending it anonymously to the cops.

"Take that, bitch." I whisper. "Tracker planted, Eli, follow. I'll join in a little while. _Don't lose him_. He's very good at it."

Eli just cuts the line. I sigh. Why does everything have to be like this?

"Hey, girl!" America exclaims, hugging my arm. "What's up?"

"I'm not sure at this point." I joke. I'm not _drunk_, it's just my vision—

"Haha." She laughs dryly. "What about our friendly neighborhood drug dealer?"

"Can _not_ believe you just used that line."

America smirks.

"I slipped a tracker into his coat, Eli is following now. I also snapped a pic of Hannah and her friends with some drugs. Can you put a camera in her apartment? I want to see that bitch's look when she gets home."

"You're cold." America says with such a straight face she has _got_ to mean it.

"Eh," I shrug.

"So you aren't going vigilante-ing?"

"Not now,"

"Need a moment to cool down?"

I glance at her.

"Oh please, I heard you two arguing like an old married couple…except harsher."

"You're stretching it."

"Eh," she retorts. "So how long are you going to stay?"

"Half an hour, then I'll leave. I trust you can keep the peoples busy?"

America smiles.  
>-<p>

Monro had moved from one apartment complex to the next. _Literally_ the next, it was just down the street. I don't know if he was lazy, thought I was stupid, or what, but he sure didn't bother taking some time and effort to locate a new base.

There's another complex across the street. While Monro's is made of stained white bricks, this one is made of red brick. The windows are blackened with dirt and grime. The entire building is abandoned, although I saw a homeless man enter a moment ago so it's probably just a refuge now.

The city lights on this half of the street are still functioning for the most part, a surprising fact given how dangerous the area is. Surely they would have all been shot out by now. It wasn't like anyone came down and fixed them. The street is empty. There's a total of three cars on the street. Two are parked by Monro's old complex, the police tape already gone, and the other one parked in front. I don't see Monro's car and wonder how Eli know he's here.

It took me ten minutes to get to the Factory, change, and get to Eli's position. Not bad timing in my opinion. I land gently behind him. He turns his head just enough to let me know he knows I'm there, then he turns back to watching the building.

"Parked his car around back." Eli said, gesturing at the building. "A car that fancy in a neighborhood like this? It doesn't take a detective or a vigilante to figure that one out."

I nod.

"So, fast and hard or stealthy?" he asks.

"Eli," I start, then stop. Damn it the words are already out of my mouth and there's no turning back now.

"Hnnh?" he asks.

"I-I'm sorry about earlier." I say. "I don't know why I snap like that. I wasn't really angry at you, to be honest I didn't mean half the things I said." I take a shaky sigh. "I'm not a racist and I've got nothing against you…except you're annoying as hell sometimes, but I just wanted to say I'm sorry for acting like a bitch."

Eli just sits in silence for a second then turns and replies "Y'think?"

I just stare. "Well, way to accept an apology." I retort.

He breaks into this smile and I can't help but return it. He grins, all his perfectly white teeth showing, and brushes his hand against my shoulder. Chill bumps run down my spine.

"No biggy."

I smile, then straighten up rather quickly. "Let's get down to business." I pull an arrow out of my sheath and notch it, going to shoot a grapple arrow, but he puts a hand on mine, stopping me.

"I've heard how you operate." He says gravely. "I don't do that. _No killing_."

"This is my city," I reply. "Which means we do things my way. If you don't like it, you can turn around and go home right now." I curse myself for saying it the second it's out of my mouth, because I don't mean it and I don't want him to go. I hold my position though, because I can't show that I bend to demands.

Eli takes a deep breath, as if calming himself, and turns back towards the building, sliding on his mask.

"Fine." He mutters.

Great, now I feel bad. I had just gotten on good terms and I have to go fuck it up. I bitterly attach the line to my arrow and fire it across the street, watching as the arrowhead firmly plants itself in the stained brick wall. I tug the line and sink the canister into the roof. Eli goes first, his gloved hands trailing smoke as he slides down the line. I hook my bow onto the line and slide across as well. We roll through the broken window into an upper-story floor. Eli's already got a gun to his face. The gangbanger doesn't see me at first, giving me time to pull one of the white sticks America gave me for my birthday out of the pouch on my legs. I extend it and swing, hitting the man so hard something goes 'crack' and it echoes around. The gangbanger collapses to the ground and Eli turns to look at me, his expression unreadable. He slips over to the guardrail and looks down.

"I spot a dozen guards." He whispers.

"A," I whisper into my comm. "How many we got?"

"Dunno!" she replies back. "Monro doesn't have any cameras in this complex. They were all taken offline. Sorry, K, you're going in blind!"

I sigh and look at Eli.

"Leave Monro to me and I'll minimize collateral damage."

"Gladly."

I grin and tap something on my gauntlet, I pull an arrow with a large metallic tip on it out of the quiver and notch it, aiming at the largest group of guards, four in total, below.

"Whoah!" Eli whispers. "What the hell is that?"

"Watch." I grin. I adjust my aim gently and let the arrow fly. It pierces one man's skull and explodes upon impact, splattering brain and blood across the wall, red and purple splotches on white. The three near him go down too, moaning and groaning in pain.

"What the fuck?!" One of the guards screams.

"Yeah, Kate," Eli says. "What the fuck?"

"Didn't mean to do that." I mutter. "And it's K. Jump!"

Eli vaults the rail and lands behind someone, kicking them in their knee and slamming a fist in their face.

Monro's already running. Two guards following.

"I've got Monro!" I yell, jumping over the railing as well and darting after the drug dealer.

"Yeah, sure!" He shouts. "Eight gangbangers. No problem!"

I'm already out the front door. He doesn't have time to get to his car so he and his goons are running straight across the street. I notch an arrow as I run and fire. It completely misses and impales itself in the wall.

"Damn it!"

Monro ducks into the building across the street we were just standing on, the red-brick building. Without stopping, I dart in the still open doors and slide to a stop. I notch one arrow, aiming at a man's chest, but remember my promise to Eli, and instead take out his kneecap. He yells in pain and his buddy stops to look at him. I fire a second arrow and it impales itself in his shoulder. He drops too. I run past them and follow Monro, weaving in and out of the homeless shelters and into a side alley.

Monro runs to the end of the alley and stops, seeing no way out. He turns and raises his hands, as if I'm going to show him mercy.

"Darren Monro!" I shout, notching an arrow and pointing it at his face. "You have failed this city!"

"Please! Whatever you want! However much you want! Name your price!"

"A pound of flesh!" I respond, and send an arrow into the palm of his hand. He yells in pain and grasps it.

"K! Cops thirty out!"

I growl. I should kill him right here and now. Eli's behind me though, blood on his suit. I lower my bow, returning the arrow to my quiver. I head towards my bike, parked in this same alleyway conveniently.

"You'll pay for this!" Monro shouts. "You won't get away! Do you know how powerful I am? Do you?"

"Shut up!" Eli snaps.

"I'll hunt you down, I'll kill your family! Do you have a sister? Does she have children?"

"Shut up!" I snap as well, turning to face him.

"I'll take them, sell them to the highest bidder! I'll rip them away from you! I'll—"

I shut him up by sending an arrow into his open mouth and out through his spine. He tries to scream in pain, but that only makes it worse.

"I said _shut up_!"

A police scar screeches to a stop at the end of the alleyway.

"K! Now!" Eli shouts. He jumps a story and a half, grabbing the fire escape and climbing up at record speeds. I'm on my bike while the police are distracted by him and speeding out of the alleyway. I'm teeming with rage. That man—He deserved to die. I could have killed him. I should have. Maybe I will…

"K! Don't even think about it!" America shouts through my comm. "There's SWAT teams and everything there. You'd never make it in alive, much less out. He'll get what he has coming to him."

I growl and squeeze down on the throttle.  
>-<p>

America's waiting in the Factory, as is Eli. America's at the computers, watching a news broadcast of Monro's arrest while Eli drinks water. He seems a little upset, but glances at me understandingly. _Oh shit_. I think. _America told him_.

She glances at me too, and I know she did. At first I'm angry, but then I hesitate. She must really believe in Eli if she told him about my rape. I shove it out of my head. It's not something to think about right now, or ever. I just want to go home and go to sleep. I'm exhausted.

"Vigilante Spares Drug Lord." America quotes, jabbing her thumb at the computer screen. "Congratulations, K, you successfully took down a criminal without murdering every soul in sight."

"Bet that's not what the police are saying." I respond bitterly, shoving my bow and quiver into the glass case. I practically rip my hood off and duck behind a box, unzipping the purple armor and sliding a tee on over my sports bra.

"Yeah," America notes. "They don't like the fact you put an arrow through his mouth. Initial reports are he's mute and paralyzed…if he lives."

"Let's hope he doesn't." I reply.

"Have you ever considered that maybe a worse hell awaits these people in jail?" Eli asks.

I look at him and sigh, grabbing a beer from the fridge and sipping on it. "Not really."

"Trust me," Eli says, a fire in his eyes. "They get what they deserve."

"Well, he certainly did." America says.

There's silence in the Factory for a moment, then America speaks up.

"Well are you going to offer him or what?" America asks.

"Offer him what?" I demand, shooting her a look.

She smiles in _that way_, just so I know what she's up to.

"Offer me what?" Eli asks, clueless.

"Oh, well, Kate here was going to offer you a spot on our team."

"Team?" I demand.

"A spot?" Eli asks. He glances at me, and me at him.

"Well, yeah." America says. "We haven't really come up with a codename yet…I was rooting for Young Justice…"****

"No." I respond firmly.

America glances at Eli with this casual look that everyone in the room gets.

"Well, I'm still attending college…" Eli says. "I can't just up and leave. I've got to get an education. I can't run around in spandex for the rest of my life."

"Why not?" America asks.

"America!" I scowl.

She laughs and Eli smiles slightly. "Besides, I…I've got my grandparents. They wouldn't approve…"

He trails off and there's some more silence. Finally, I extend my hand.

"Well it was nice meeting and working with you, Eli." I say.

He nods and smiles. "You too, Kate."

He grabs his mask and leaves, walking out the door. I turn towards America who's just giving me _the look_.

"What?"

She darts her eyes from me to the door with the same look on her face.

"No."

More eye darting.

"No!"

She looks like a blowfish now.

"Eli, wait!"

I dart out the door after him. _God_, I can't believe I just played into America's hand. I must admit it's not the worst thing she's ever conned me into.

"Hey," I gasp, stopping next to him. He wasn't even up the ramp yet.

"Yes?"

"What—What if I paid for your college?" I ask. _What the hell are you doing, Kate?_

This takes him by surprise. "What?"

"Come to college in New York. They're really good, I can pay for them, hell I can get you in if you want."

Eli nods slowly, but then stops. "What about my grandparents?"

"They don't need to know." I smile.

"What? Like lie to them?" Eli demands.

"It's not like you haven't before." I point out.

Eli smiles.

_"My name is Kate Bishop. Six months ago I was assaulted in Central Park. After my recovery, I vowed that what happened to me would not happen to anyone else. Now I don a hood and wield a bow to bring down those who are poisoning my city. To do this without endangering those closest to me however, I must hide my identity. I must become someone else, I must become something else."_

-**_  
>Two Days Later…<em>**  
>-<p>

I slip down the cold metal stairs in my bare feet. The stairway is cold and the floor in the living room is even colder. My feet stick to the floor, sweat from dreams and the warmth of my bed leaving soft footprints behind. I'm wrapped up in a bathrobe, a tee and shorts on underneath. The large window in the living room illuminates the dark city-scape. Tall, straight columns of darkness lit by speckles of light, each belonging to a family. It's massive and it makes me feel very small and tiny. The night sky is as black as the skyscrapers, considerably less speckles of lights in the sky. There's a few stormy clouds out. The moon is three-quarters full, it's light shining in the giant window and illuminating the floor, casting shadows from the furniture.

I walk quietly over to the door and type in the correct passcode, cringing at each of the five beeps from the keypad. I open the door quietly and usher America inside. She's wearing jeans, a tee, a black leather jacket, and some odd jewelry. I think she was mostly asleep when she called, but wanted to appear less so. Her hair is messy and she's tried to hide the fact by pulling it into a pony-tail. I close the door behind her and lock it, ushering her quietly up the stairs to my room. I push her inside and close the door behind me, locking it twice.

America has her laptop in her hand. It's black and covered in little American flags, Captain America stickers and shields. She sets it on the desk and opens it up, typing in her password faster than my eyes can follow her fingers. She pulls up an app on the computer that turns the screen dark. Neon blue and white lines cross the screen, strange images popping up. Triangles inside triangles, squares crossing circles, they seem to make sense to her and she's typing in passwords before their requested.

"Welcome to Vigilance." She grinned. "Home to all of your vigilante needs."

It's good to see her happy, but I don't get a midnight call on my vigilante line stating we need to meet in person to finally see the switch behind the scenes.

"Whatcha got?"

"The gang that raped you? I've made some progress. Monro was only the first. There's a whole slew of men who are tied to them." America whispers.

"Who's my next target?" I ask.

"Daniel Schoffmore." America replies, pulling up the man's profile online. Unlike Monro, he has a blonde Mohawk, his skin dark. He's got ear-rings and nose rings, chains linking them. Tattoos cover his arms and legs. His eyes are this unforgiving and cold brown. I can see his charges listed next to his name.

"Arms-dealer?" I ask.

"Yes," America replies. "But I found another interesting fact. Daniel has a cousin in the army, Garry Santiago. Garry is transferring arms from a military base to a freighter to be shipped to the Middle East."

"You think Garry's going to sell them to Daniel?"

"I know," America says. "I coded a little program to listen in on conversations—it uses the NSA feeds and highlights key words to—"

"Point?" I ask.

"The point is," America replied. "Garry told Daniel where to meet him and what type of weapons they were carrying: RPGs, grenade launchers, assault rifles, grenades, tear gas…if it's in Call of Duty, they've got it on that truck."

"When's the deal going down?"

"Next Saturday."

"All of this is very good, but why did you call me?" I ask.

"Because," America takes a deep breath. "I found a payment wired to the gang. The payment was bounced through a dozen satellites through twice as many countries. I can't tell who paid it, but I'm getting closer."

"How big was the payment?"

"Ten million."

My eyes widen.

"Kate, I've almost found the man at the top!"  
>-<p>

-  
>*See <strong>X-Men: Standing Guard <strong>S2E02 "Young Avenger"

**See **X-Men: Standing Guard **S1E10 "The Price of Revenge" Epilogue

***See **X-Men: Standing Guard **S1E06 "Bishop"

****Young Justice; the DC Comics equivalent (much better) to the Young Avengers


	4. Thank You!

**Hey guys! I just wanted to publish this short announcement. As you most likely are aware, I published the ****_Bishop_**** trailer and pilot yesterday for your review (please leave reviews on that) as well as the trailer for Season 2 of ****_X-Men: Standing Guard_****. The response to these three postings blew my mind. Previously the highest amount of views on all of my stories in a single day was ****_X-Men: Standing Guard _****Season 1 when we achieved 97 views. Yesterday we received over 139 views (a 50% raise in viewing)! Thank you all so much and keep the support coming! I can't wait for you to see Season 2 and ****_Bishop_****! It's going to be awesome!**

**If you aren't already, please follow the following stories to keep up with new content from me:**

_X-Men: Standing Guard Season 1_

**_X-Men: Standing Guard Season 1 EXTRAS_**

**_X-Men: Standing Guard Season 2_**

**_Bishop: Season 1_**

Please leave reviews because it is the only way for me to know if my series is being enjoyed! Once more thank you for all of the support and keep it coming! With the most possible exception of next week (Comic-Con), I'll have something coming from me weekly whether it be sneak peeks at upcoming episodes, deleted scenes and extras from previous ones, or just a weekly update until at least December (I've been working!)

**If you really want to keep up with what's going on here, follow me on Twitter (link on my Profile)!**


	5. Bishop S1E02 Filler & Update

**Hey everyone! So in case you aren't following my twitter (which I assume you aren't,) here's the latest on the technical difficulties. On Saturday, my computer crashed. I was just browsing the internet when it died. I tried resuscitating, but there was nothing I could do. It blackscreened that afternoon. Up until even today, I am trying anything I can to get it back up and operational, but have been forced to move to a secondary (crappier) computer to continue writing and publishing. I can confirm that ****_X-Men: Standing Guard_**** will continue on schedule for the time being. I have all the way halfway through Episode Seven complete, and Episode Seven isn't being released until January, so you're fine for content. However, I will not be publishing anything extra (unless something special happens) because I am focusing on getting my computer to work again. Thank you.**

**Anyway, I promised some time ago that despite the fact ****_Bishop_**** never got to see the light of day, I would be publishing short clips to keep you filled in on the story so you know what is going on. Here is one of those clips! Hope you enjoy!  
><strong>**-**

**-  
><strong>Kate parked in the Warehouse and pulled off her helmet.

"Stupid fucking meta-humans."

"Spiderman again?" America asked with a sigh, turning to the purple-clad archer.

"Yeah." Kate sighed, trying to pull some webbing out of her hair. "You are dressed up."

America was. She was wearing tight black pants and a loose gold sequin shirt. She had on dark red lipstick, and her dark hair was done up in curls.

"Yeah, I had a date, remember oh ye social bug?" America asked.

"You have fun?" Kate asked with a smile.

"Yeah." America replied, moving to turn back towards the computer.

"Is she pretty?" Kate asked.

America slammed her foot into the desk and cursed. She wheeled slowly back around to face Kate. "What?"

"Is she pretty?" Kate repeated.

America squinted her eyes at Kate, studying her.

"You're wearing dark red lipstick, yet the purple is smudged all over your face, despite your hurried attempts to clean it off." Kate said. "That's the first clue."

"Could've been a guy." America protested, sticking her bottom lip out.

"Only gay guys wear lipstick." Kate said, putting her bow in her glass case. "Like Eli."

"That's not lipstick." Eli said. "It's chapstick 'cause it's fucking October."

"Eavesdropping?" Kate asked.

"Working out." Eli replied, wiping the sweat off of his head with the back of his hand.

"Uh-huh." Kate muttered, turning and hanging her quiver on the wall as well.

"Besides, I'm not gay." Eli said.

"Uh-huh." Kate replied with a smirk. She could tell she was pissing the guy off.

"I'm not." Eli protested.

"Not even a little?" Kate teased.

Eli smirked and folded his arms over his chest. "Why, Kate? Does the thought of me with another guy turn you on?"

Kate stumbled and ran right into a pillar. America, who had been snickering before, burst out into a full blown laugh, stomping the floor with her heel and clutching her stomach.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed. "You-You-You walked right into that one. _Literally!_" Then she burst into a fresh batch of laughter.

"Hilarious." Kate muttered, standing up.

"What about you, Kate?" Eli asked. "Gay?"

"Hell no." Kate replied, waving a hand. She turned to America who was getting over her laughter. "No offense."

"Too bad." America smirked. "I'd do you."

Kate laughed. "Don't tell me that's why you've been following me around this whole time."

America fell silent and Kate stopped.

"Oh-my-God-it-is!" she exclaimed. "You're hot for me!"

"I-I wouldn't put it that way!" America stammered.

"No, it's fine!" Kate said. "Just-why didn't you ever say anything?"

"That's a great way to end a friendship!" America exclaimed. "Hey, you realize I'm gay and I'm only your friend 'cause I wanna nail you."

Silence.

"_That-that _ was the wrong way to put it." Kate said.

The three stood for a moment more in silence before realizing how hilarious this whole situation was and bursting out laughing.  
>-<p>

**-  
><strong>**I hope you enjoyed this clip! Check back in two weeks for another, and don't forget to check out the biggest episode of _X-Men: Standing Guard_ yet THIS SATURDAY!**


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